


Whiskey in the Water

by littlecakes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Comfort Sex, Emotional Sex, Gladio!Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prompto!Whump, Slow Burn, Smut, Whump, World of Ruin, emotional gladio, ok it's a slow burn but there's gonna be a lot of bad decisions, sexy bad decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: In a world where darkness reigns, there's not much left to hope for. The constant struggle for survival prevails and it brings Prompto and Gladio closer together than they ever intended it to. Can they acknowledge their feelings for each other and let love bloom in a world where nothing else does?





	1. Do You Feel Bad, Like I Feel Bad?

Prompto still has to remind himself sometimes that it’s night all the time now, not just between the traditional hours of evening and morning time. The land is cloaked in darkness, one that’s never ending and consumes the mountains that surround Lestallum. It makes the city that much more lonely, like it stands alone as a tiny beacon, its light barely piercing the blackness that’s covering everything.

It’s a busy night in Lestallum. People mill in the streets conversing, trading, and living their lives. The once-lively city is subdued, and a sadness taints the air like a bad smell. The quiet background noise of the power plant brings some comfort to the dark streets. Lestallum’s not the same without the dust in the air shimmering in the sun.

Prompto misses the sun. He misses the warm kiss the morning light would bestow on his skin. He misses the way its light would catch the midnight locks of a long-lost friend. He misses the hot hot heat of the marketplace, sweltering under its neverending gaze. Hell, he even misses the way the light would catch the steel of a greatsword swinging down on a garrula’s back.

On a night like tonight, after a long waking period spent hunting daemons tormenting the people of a nearby refuge, he finds himself in Lestallum’s most popular bar, Ifrit’s Horn. It never seems to run dry of beer or whiskey, despite the increasing demand for it; people need to stave off the edge, the anxiety a never ending night brings, and Prompto can’t blame them for that. He’s here for the exact same comfort.

Lights are always kept low in Lestallum to save electricity. No one knows how much longer the sunlight will be gone and no one wants to risk the electric lights of Lestallum keeping the daemons at bay running out. If it could get worse, that would do it. So, for now, Prompto sits under one of those dim lights with a glass of booze and a brain that just won’t shut up.

The glass in his hand is sweating, coating the suede on the palm of his glove in condensation. He wipes it off on his pants. There was a time when he would wipe the condensation off on his face and its chilly temperature would have soothed his sunbaked skin. Now it’s cold all the time, even though it’s the middle of summer. There was even frost on the blades of grass in a field outside of town today- the memory of its crunch underfoot makes him sick to his stomach with worry.

It’s been two years of no sun, and it looks like there won’t be any light anytime soon.

“Another?” the bartender asks.

Prompto nods and chokes, “Yeah.”

She gives him a half hearted smile, grabbing his cup and turning around to grab the liquor off the shelf. Whatever it is, it’s good enough to warm his belly and soften the edges of painful memories, and that’s good enough for him. He tries not to imagine what Ignis would say if he found Prompto seeking comfort in the bottom of a bottle. 

Rocking the glass from side to side, he watches the slightly viscous fluid catch on the side of the glass in the light before it runs back down into the mass of alcohol sitting in the bottom. The ice in it tinkles like bells against the crystal. The liquid in his glass is amber in color. Amber like honey, like old maple wood, like…

“Prompto,” a voice calls from behind him. It’s thick and gravelly, and says his name with a tone of familiarity. Prompto’s stomach shoots up into his throat at the sound. It’s Gladio. He sits down next to Prompto at the bar, nodding at the bartender and asking for a beer. Settling in against the stool’s back, Gladio sighs from deep in his chest and closes his eyes.

‘I don’t think I can do this right now.’ 

Prompto wants to say it, anyway. 

‘I can’t see you. I can’t be like this with you.’

His heart hurts just thinking about it.

‘I love you.’

Instead, he says nothing, and continues to play with the alcohol in his glass. The ice has melted now, making the strong flavor of what he now realizes is whiskey a little softer. All of the sudden, the memory of Gladio’s stubble against his lips, words murmured in private, they all come rushing back and Prompto feels like he can’t breathe. The worst memory of them all is Gladio’s whispered words in his ear: “ _I can’t do this_.”

He wants to run, far away from this bar, until the darkness that’s consumed Lucis consumes him, too.

He still does nothing.

“Rough hunt today,” Gladio says as the bottle of beer in his hand clunks against the hardwood surface of the bar. He’s picking at the label with his fingernail. Prompto watches out the corner of his eye; he can see the man’s chest rise and fall under his open leather jacket. Sometimes, he wishes he were that leather jacket, covering the person underneath in a layer of protection and comfort the man seeks out every day. Prompto wants to be that comfort, that protection.

He laughs a breathy chuckle that rushes out his nose. “Yeah. Fucking mindflayers,” he says casually. He still doesn’t have the heart to look at the other man. Prompto’s afraid those amber eyes will pierce whatever barriers he still has left and Gladio will see straight through him. He’s afraid he’ll see the lie; that even though he said everything’s cool, it’s not, and Prompto is irrevocably in love with the only person who gives a shit about him now.

Of course he’s in love with him. Prompto  _knows_ he’s attention starved. Always has been, always will be, and now he’s set himself up for misery. Being in love with someone who’s not in love with you is absolutely terrible, but he’ll get through it. He’ll suffer forever, if that means Gladio stays by his side. He hates himself a little for even thinking that being lucky enough to be Gladio’s friend is a consolation prize.

“Those smelling salts help? With the confusion, I mean,” Gladio says. Prompto can see him lean forward on the bar to lean on his forearms.

“Yeah, I’m good now. Thanks, big guy.”

“Good.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence between them. It’s as if they’re both longing for more. Prompto knows  _he_ is. Gladio is his best friend, his roommate, his hunting partner, he’s everything right now in a world where there’s little else to have hope in. A thud snaps Prompto back to reality. Gladio’s set a big stack of bills on the counter between them.

“What’s that!?” Prompto stammers.

Gladio chuckles. “It’s what’s left over after paying rent and bills. It’s  _fun money._ ”

“Fun money?”

“You know. Cash for doing things that are entertaining?” Gladio says skeptically. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to have fun. If  _you_ can’t have fun, there sure as hell isn’t hope for any of the rest of us.”

Prompto braces himself to look up at the other man. Gladio’s smiling at him and it’s expectant and warm and  _gods_ , it’s beautiful. The right side of his lips always curl more than the left side when he’s got that devious grin. It’s been so long since he’s seen it, it would be a shame to pass it up now and watch it disappear again.

“Alright, buddy, let’s have some fun, then,” Prompto says with a smile.

______________________________

  


“And then, and then, gods, do you remember, Gladio? The way that voretooth blood  _stank?,_ ” Prompto howls. He’s nearly tipping off his barstool, but Gladio braces him with a strong hand on his shoulder. The action would normally send Prompto reeling; such a careful, protective touch is one he never gets, but thankfully, he’s pretty drunk. Gladio is too, though. Prompto can tell by the way his tan cheeks are just a little flushed.

“And Iggy shouts ‘ _I’ve come up with a new recipe!’_ ” Gladio laughs. “Noct just says sarcastically, ‘ _can’t wait to try it_ ’... if looks could kill, Iggy’d be dead.”

It feels so good to laugh. It feels so good to remember. Prompto doesn’t normally allow himself to because if he does, then those cerulean eyes haunt him all day and his heart hurts for his best friend, for his brother in arms. Remembering like this though, with Gladio, reminds him of just how important those times were. How he’d do it all again if he could.

The bar’s almost cleared out at this point save for Gladio, Prompto, and the fifth of whiskey sitting on the bar between them that’s empty. The Shield can normally hold his liquor well, but when he’s this far gone even he can’t stand steady. Prompto’s much shorter than he is, but somehow the two make it out of the Horn and down the street, stumbling and laughing as they hold each other up.

Gladio’s arm is around his shoulder as they walk down the hall toward the apartment and it feels so good, he’s so warm and happy and Prompto  _needs_ this. Gladio smiling and laughing makes him feel like it’s going to be okay. He’s so happy because of Prompto, because of their friendship. That feels even better than the rough, calloused hand touching his shoulder and the bare skin of Gladio’s side brushing against Prompto’s arm.

_This is all you need, this is all you need, don’t ask for more, don’t_ _ruin it,_ he tells himself.

A key is in a lock and suddenly he’s in the apartment. It’s so dark Prompto trips over the coffee table and his chin makes contact with the floor. Hot blood begins to well on the wound, but Prompto’s still laughing and so is Gladio. A light turns on, illuminating the humiliating scene for amber eyes to see.

Gladio offers Prompto a hand, who willingly takes it to be yanked roughly to his feet. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”

“Hmmm,” Prompto says, touching his fingers to the scrape. “S’not so bad.”

“I don’t think you want a scar,” Gladio says warily. “Let’s clean it up and hit the hay. Holly said she had work for us to do tomorrow.”

“‘Kay,” Prompto says as he hops on the kitchen counter, the heels of his boots knocking into the cupboard doors. Gladio brings over a tube of antibacterial ointment, rubbing alcohol, and a bandage, as well as a damp cloth. The cloth burns, but not as much as the alcohol does, and Prompto winces as he pulls away from Gladio.

“Sorry, Prom,” Gladio says, stepping a bit closer until Prompto’s knees are knocking against his hips. “C’mon, I’m almost done.”

Prompto shivers before closing his eyes and turning his head back toward Gladio, who proceeds to dress the wound. His thick, warm fingers take Prompto’s jaw in his hand so he can tilt Prompto’s head toward the light to examine his work. “There. Got it. Should be fine.”

“Thanks,” Prompto mutters, his eyes still closed. He’s afraid to open them, to see Gladio so close. He’s afraid of what he’ll do. It didn’t go well last time he tried to tell Gladio how much he cared for him, and with just enough alcohol in his blood, it probably won’t go well this time, either. Who is he kidding? Nothing ever goes right. He’s Prompto, after all.

“Prompto?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

It’s at that moment that Prompto notices that Gladio hasn’t moved. He’s still within reach. Prompto cracks an eye to see that gods, he’s even close enough to kiss. The stubble on his cheeks is  _right there_ and all of the sudden Prompto can feel it drag on his cheek as Gladio takes him in his arms in a great, big hug. Hesitantly, Prompto pats Gladio on the back as he starts to tremble ever so slightly.

“Gladio? Big guy? What’s up?” he asks.

Gladio pulls away and at first Prompto’s sad until he can see the heartache in Gladio’s eyes, and then he’s really, really confused.

“Gladio?”

Gladio sighs. “I’m an idiot, Prompto.”

Prompto laughs. “What, no! You’re not!”

“I am.”

“How so?” Prompto’s eyebrows knit together in concentration. Suddenly, Gladio’s hands are on his hips and their foreheads are pressed together and he’s so close Prompto can taste the whiskey on the other man’s breath. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he just freezes. Gladio isn’t moving either; amber eyes drift away and all that’s left is the sound of heavy, anxious breaths.

Prompto does nothing.

He just waits for Gladio to come around.

“I shouldn’t.”

Gladio’s hands drop to his sides and he steps away. Prompto sighs, running his hands through his hair and grabbing fistfuls of it. The pressure on his scalp reminds him he’s here in the real world, that anything happening, anything changing in their relationship is just a lie to himself. That hoping is just plain stupid.

But still. It hurts. It hurts so deeply, and it’s Gladio who’s hurting him like this. He’s like the tide, in one moment touching, quiet, and sensitive, and then rushing away from him just as quickly. He’s taking the part Prompto knows is there, as much as Gladio wants to deny it to himself. There’s feelings, and he’s not the only one that’s caught them.

“I can’t, I can’t do this, Gladio,” Prompto gasps, cradling his head in his hands. “I can’t do this anymore. Why do you do this to me??”

Gladio’s standing, facing away from Prompto. His fists are curled at his sides, making the tattooed flesh of his wrists flex and bulge. Either he’s ignoring Prompto, or he can’t speak, but Prompto doesn’t know if he can wait anymore. He doesn’t know if he can let himself continue like this, always wondering and never knowing.

It didn’t always used to be this way. There was a time when the darkness was new and fresh, when they were hopeful. As one year passed and then two, things changed. The charge, the electric determination in Gladio’s heart fizzled out. After a lifetime of duty and sacrifice, he was struggling to find himself. Prompto knew too well what that was like, having your sense of self taken from you, leaving you alone and empty.

Prompto witnessed it for himself one night when Gladio had had enough of it, of the darkness, of the hopelessness. Of trying to find himself in a world where there didn’t seem to be a place for him anymore. He’d never seen Gladio so fragile in all their years of friendship.

He never meant for it to happen. Prompto never meant for things to change when he reached a hand out in aid. He only meant to help the man who’d meant the most to him. Little did he know that Gladio could mean so much  _more._

Prompto is half gasping as he tries to fight the sob that’s sticking in his throat. “Gladio! Please just tell me, please…”

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs. It’s so quiet Prompto can barely hear it over the hum of the refrigerator. “I lost Noct. There was nothing I could do about that; he did his duty, he’s in the Crystal now. But you, Prom? I find myself obsessing over every little thing. Like if I let things change- if  _I_ change things- it’s gonna fuck it all up, and I can’t lose you.”

“So you just let me go and think that it’s all me? That there’s nothing there?” Prompto chokes. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that he’s tipsy or the bittersweet surprise stabbing in the heart that’s making him cry. He hates himself for it, he just wants to be strong enough to stick up for himself right now, but he can’t.

“Prompto, I’m not strong enough to make it out there without you. As much as I… as much as I feel, or want, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Let things be the way they are now if it means that you stay by my side instead of throwing it all away for something that might not work.”

It’s like the air’s been sucked from his lungs. Another hot tear streaks down his cheek, following the same path the last one did. It’s all Prompto can do to just stare at the back of Gladio’s head, at the long, brown locks that fall past his shoulders now after years of growth. The shaved sides are coming in and Gladio tames them into a ponytail at the apex of his skull.

“Gladio,” Prompto says, urgency in his tone. “Gladio, look at me. Please?”

After a few moments, Prompto’s not sure if he’s actually going to do it or walk away. Either seem likely at this point. Of course, all he wants is for Gladio to turn around so he can see his best friend’s face. The answer will be there in his amber eyes, the answer to the unasked question that both of them know is teetering on the curves of their lips.

_Do we have the heart to risk more after everything that’s happened?_

Gladio turns to face him after what feels like an eternity. Prompto catches a glimmer of gold before he’s swept up in those strong arms again, only this time it’s a desperate hold. Gladio’s clutching Prompto to his chest like he’s a life preserver and he’s drowning. Prompto holds him as tightly as possible; Gladio towers over him, envelops him with his body, demonstrating his prowess as only a Shield can.

“I want more,” Gladio mumbles, his voice thick. “I’ve tried to fight it for a long time, Prom.”

Prompto whispers, “I know.”

Gladio’s hold grows tighter. “You do?”

“How could I not?” Prompto laughs, his voice heavy from crying. “How could I not know you that well? Some best friend I’d be if I couldn’t.”

“Prompto,” Gladio says with a sigh. It sends Prompto reeling, that sigh. It’s a happy one, soaked in relief. Gladio’s hands find their way to Prompto’s neck and his thumbs tease at the curve of his jaw. His forehead finds his way to Prompto’s again and he’s looking up at him pleadingly with those amber eyes through his eyelashes and  _fuck_ if the gorgeous man standing before Prompto hasn’t ever looked more beautiful.

That is, until he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Prompto asks desperately. His hands latch onto Gladio’s wrists, holding on tight. This may be the last time Gladio ever lets him get this close, he may as well take in as much as he can. He already knows he won’t forget the way those arms folded around his body or the quiver in Gladio’s voice as he confessed. Prompto can smell the alcohol on his breath -gods, he’s so close- but Gladio turns away. He  _knows_ Gladio wants this too. His guts are rolling at this point.

Those strong arms can’t seem to leave him, though, and neither can those hands. They travel from his hips to his sides, straight up his chest until they’re caressing his face. Gladio’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs heavily through his nose, shaking his head again and smirking at himself.

“Gladio… why? What’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” Gladio says, pushing his forehead against Prompto’s so the tips of their noses graze. He screws his lips up in a wry smile as he looks at Prompto again and those golden eyes are blazing into his soul. “Is I kiss you, and I don’t think I’d be able to stop. Stop myself. Stop these feelings.”

“So…” Prompto starts, before swallowing thickly. He’s ready to answer that question, he  _is_ ready to risk it, but any hesitation from Gladio will ruin it. It’s either a resounding yes or no from both, there can’t be a mix. It’s like standing on the edge of a precipice with a parachute pack, and having no idea whether or not it’s actually in there. Does he jump anyway, or does he beat a hasty retreat back to his safe misery?

“So why stop?”

Prompto can feel the heat in his cheeks as he looks at Gladio. The man’s ability to maintain a poker face really is incredible. Prompto has no idea what he’s thinking or feeling until Gladio’s beard is brushing against his bandaged chin as he kisses him. It’s rushed and short, but it’s enough to say what he needs to say.

“Gladio,” Is all Prompto has the chance to gasp before those lips are pressed to his again and they’re kissing. He’s kissing  _Gladio_ , gods, it’s just like those dreams his subconscious has been barraging him with lately, those lips are just as full and soft as he imagined. Prompto can still taste the cinnamon whiskey on Gladio’s tongue as it slips through his lips and Prompto groans, hot and heady.

Gladio wastes no time pulling Prompto close until he’s sliding off the kitchen counter. He’s got a firm hold on those slender hips with one hand and the other’s snaking through Prompto’s hair, grasping eagerly at his golden locks. He locks his ankles around Gladio’s waist, clinging to him as they kiss while Gladio haphazardly navigates out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Your room or mine?” Gladio mumbles against Prompto’s lips, fumbling with the light switch.

“Does it matter?”

“Yours then,” Gladio chuckles. It sends a shiver up Prompto’s spine; the laugh is low, sensual,  _lusty_ , even. Gladio pushes him against the door, but it’s shut and he ends up pinning the blonde against it with his weight as he shrugs off his leather jacket. Next to come off is Prompto’s tank top, which is tossed carelessly down the hallway. The heat of tanned, inked skin presses into his body and Prompto’s sure he’s going to lose his mind before the night is over.

Somehow they get the door open- Prompto’s pretty sure he heard the wood crack under the pressure of both of their bodies pressing against it but he’ll worry about that later- and Gladio tosses him on the bed so he can unlace his boots. Prompto’s are already off and he shimmies out of his pants as quickly as he can, urged on by the sheer impossibility of this moment and the desire to grasp it with both hands before it can escape.

Gladio chuckles. “Eager?”

“Says the guy who just broke the door,” Prompto mutters, rolling his eyes. The thought of the door breaking from the force of their enthusiasm alone is more than a little turn on. He looks toward his lover to smirk at him, but there’s no time. Gladio’s already closing in on him and Prompto’s starting to realize just how serious he was when he said he wasn’t going to be able to stop.

Scarred fingers close on Prompto’s hips, pulling him down until his legs are dangling off of the bed, straddling Gladio, who’s kneeling at the foot of it. A smile teases at his lips as those fingers skate over his creamy, freckled skin, amber eyes drinking in the sight of him with each caress. 

Prompto tucks an errant lock of hair behind Gladio’s ear before leaning over to kiss him. It’s hungry and wet as he slides his tongue between his lips, slipping and sliding against Gladio’s. There’s no longer a need for reservation or chaste, or at least Prompto doesn’t think so. He doesn’t want there to be one. All he wants right now is to taste and feel as much of Gladio as he can possibly get.

“Gods, Prom.”

Prompto chuckles. “You’re telling me.”

Prompto pulls him in to kiss him once more, their smiles pressing against one anothers as he feels Gladio’s tongue slip between his lips, earning a gasp from the blonde. Gladio smiles even harder against Prompto’s kiss, using a thumb to turn Prompto’s cheek so he can nip at the soft skin of his neck. His body reacts with a shudder and a twitch of his hardening cock, encouraging the other to suck another mark into his neck.

A deep hum erupts from Gladio’s chest that goes straight to the heat coiling in Prompto’s gut. He could get used to this; those swollen lips and skilled hands all over him, pushing him to points he’s sure he hasn’t even dreamed of yet. Prompto’s eager to get there as his hands wander south to Gladio’s firm ass, giving it a squeeze.

“These, off,” Prompto says, slipping a finger into the waistband of Gladio’s black boxer briefs and giving them a sharp snap. Gladio stands to slide them down his thick, muscular thighs, revealing his hardening erection. Gladio laughs nervously as he beholds Prompto’s hungry eyes scanning the planes of his body.

Prompto’s eyes soften as he takes in Gladio’s blushing visage. “What’s up?” he asks, kneeling on the foot of the bed.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t the only one who was naked,” he mutters.

Happy to oblige, Prompto lays back to shimmy his boxers down his hips and kicks them off. His erection stands proudly between his legs, a bead of precome already forming at the tip. Prompto enjoys watching Gladio’s eyes darken at the sight of it. The shield sits cross-legged on the bed and Prompto’s crawling into his lap, taking a dark nipple between his fingertips and twisting gently.

“This good?” Prompto asks, tenderly kissing the sweeping curve of Gladio’s collarbone.

Gladio’s fingers sink into Prompto’s naked hips, pulling him closer until their cocks rub together. The larger man quakes from the intimate contact and his hips buck into Prompto’s. “More than good, blondie,” he groans as his forehead dips forward and slumps onto Prompto’s shoulder.

Prompto takes it as an invitation to continue exploring his body. He’s dying to find out the things that make Gladio tick. Those little secret spots that fill him with want are just begging to be found. One hand snakes through Gladio’s long locks, gripping his ponytail and holding him close, while the other massages the tattooed flesh of his pectoral. His nipple’s already hard as Prompto’s fingers close around it, giving it a twist that’s a little rougher than the first.

The sound that escapes Gladio’s lips is utterly delightful.

Thick fingers close around their cocks and give them a squeeze. “G-Gladio!” Prompto gasps, rutting up into Gladio’s hand. He laughs and the sound is so sinfully arousing. Another squeeze, another gasp, and Gladio holds Prompto so tight against his chest the air’s almost escaping his lungs. He reaches for Prompto’s bedside drawer, finding the lube that’s hiding under a bag of earplugs.

His hold on Prompto is still tight as he pops open the lube with one hand, squeezing some out into his palm before tossing the bottle aside. Gladio’s grip on their members is strong and firm as he thrusts up into it, creating a wonderful friction between them. Holding Prompto steady in his arm effortlessly, as if he’s made of air and nothing else, Gladio continues the rhythm, thrusting up into his hand and grinding against Prompto’s cock. Prompto’s head starts spinning.

If he’s dreaming, he never wants to wake up.

Gladio stops thrusting, only to loosen his grip so he can slide his hand down their shafts and squeeze tightly on the upstroke. If the sensation of the object of his affections grinding against him wasn’t enough, this is pure bliss. Prompto’s quickly reduced to clawing weakly at Gladio’s shoulders and burying his face in the other man’s neck as he mewls in pleasure.

“Keep… keep that up and I’m gonna come,” Prompto pants. 

That fucking laugh is gonna be the end him, he realizes, as Gladio chuckles and kisses his neck. “Hmm, guess I better stop then. Find something else to do to you…”

The lube pops open again. He can’t see it, but he can hear the viscous fluid smearing and spreading behind his back. Prompto nearly jumps as a warm, slick finger finds its way down the cleft of his ass and circles the tight flesh of his entrance. Gladio releases his hold on Prompto so he can lean his forehead against his. Gladio’s eyes are dark and tense as they search Prompto’s.

“Let me know if this is too much, Prom,” he says, his voice heady and thick.

“Like I said…” Prompto pants. “Why stop?”

Gladio’s eyes soften and his expression is one of adoration as he kisses Prompto tenderly. His heart feels like it’s on fire in his chest, burning with affection. It’s hard to believe that just minutes ago Prompto was doubting that things would ever be this way; it just feels so  _right_ to be wrapped up in Gladio’s arms. Their bodies slot together like they were made for each other.

Prompto is already shaking as a finger slips past his tight ring until it’s knuckle deep inside him. A mix of anticipation and arousal is churning in his guts. He wants Gladio- gods, does he  _want_ Gladio- but he has to control himself. He needs to play it cool or this will be over before it even starts. That’s exactly what he needs; to have this beautiful moment go to shit before he has a say and his body does the talking for him. Prompto takes a deep breath and feels himself relax and submit to the gentle curl of Gladio’s finger.

The hot, wet heat of Gladio’s mouth closes on Prompto’s neck when he wraps his arms around the shield’s neck. Another finger begins to probe, slowly slipping inside beside its counterpart as Prompto gasps and arcs into Gladio. He scissors and thrusts his fingers at a slow, languid pace that makes Prompto want to rock back against them, send them deeper until they hit that sweet spot. It’s like Gladio already knows what he wants, and with a kiss thrusts his fingers deeper and curls them against Prompto’s prostate.

“ _Gladio!_ ” he cries, tucking his face into the curve of Gladio’s neck and clinging onto him for dear life as Gladio works him open enthusiastically. With every stroke of those deft fingers, Prompto comes a little more undone.

Gladio kisses his cheek and holds him tight against his muscular frame. “You ready for me, Prom?”

“Ready,” he gasps.

Gladio’s fingers slip from within him and Prompto misses the feeling of being so full of him almost immediately. His arms stick to his shoulders, their skin dewy and fragrant with sweat as they kissed. Prompto bites down on Gladio’s lower lip gently, enjoying the taste of whiskey and salt mixing in his mouth. Their kisses, hungry and wanting, seemed to say everything words need to say. Prompto’s grant permission, and Gladio’s accept it eagerly.

Another pop of the lid and another slick, wet sound fill Prompto’s ears. He inhales sharply as Gladio lifts him just enough from his lap to touch the tip of his cock to Prompto’s hole. Amber and violet meet and the electric current shared in their gaze sucks them both in. Neither dares to break it as Gladio relinquishes control, sliding his hands up Prompto’s side and catching his face in his hands.

Prompto lowers himself, gently, slowly, until Gladio’s sheathed to the hilt inside him. He can feel the man beneath him tremble ever so gently. This moment’s his for the taking and he chooses to relish it, peppering Gladio’s neck and shoulder with kisses as he allows himself time to adjust to the stretch. Gladio’s hands never cease traveling over the planes of his slender body; his touch is warm and inviting.

The sound of their skin colliding is music to Prompto’s ears. He braces himself on Gladio’s strong shoulders and his feet flat on the mattress as he lifts himself as slowly as his shaking thighs will let him before dropping back down onto his erection. Gladio shudders as Prompto lifts and drops in his staccato pacing before he can’t wait any longer.

“Hold on,” he grunts before those fingertips sink into Prompto’s ass so deep it hurts. He can’t object, and doesn’t want to. All he  _can_ do is clutch to the strong body holding him in his arms, thrusting up into him with a hungry force. All he wants to do is suspend this moment in time so he can relish the way Gladio’s eyes seem to find their way back to Prompto’s between every slap of skin, the raw ache of fingernails in his flesh, the stars that shine behind his eyelids as Gladio strikes that sweet spot with every thrust.

The pleasure’s building like a fire in his guts. The coals are slowly building until they’re white hot, burning brightly within him, and it’s almost too much to bear. Each thrust sends a cascade of embers through Prompto’s brain and he can’t stop the cries that slip from his lips like truths. Gladio’s pace is break-neck now, he’s fucking Prompto like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“I’m gonna,  _fuck_ , Gladio,” Prompto keens as he finally tips over that precipice. Muscles spasm and clench around his partner as he orgasms. Prompto is panting and gasping as each stroke drags out that moment of pleasure until he’s so stimulated it’s almost too much.

Gladio’s chasing him to the finish line. Prompto can feel his release within him and moans as Gladio’s cock twitches against that sensitive spot. He’s stunned, laying in Gladio’s arms like a ragdoll, enjoying the kiss that’s pressed against his temple. Whether it’s from the mind-blowing orgasm or the fact that Gladio gave it to him, he’s not sure. He can feel Gladio moving below him, squirming to the center of the bed and laying down with Prompto still straddling him.

Prompto’s chest rises and falls rapidly as he catches his breath to match Gladio’s uneven breathing. It’s silent as the two lay there, basking in the afterglow, offering soft touches to one another. Gladio softens and falls from Prompto’s heat, turning him on his side to avoid a mess they’ll have to clean up later. Right now is simply for recovering and sharing languid kisses until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  



	2. Despondent, Distracted, Vicious and Romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio flees the scene and Prompto wakes up.

There’s a painful throbbing in the back of Gladio’s skull when he wakes the next morning. It feels as if he had a meal of sand and razorblades the night before; his throat is dry, sticky, and pained. Thankfully, there isn’t much more to this hangover, but he wishes there was. It could be a more fitting punishment to the crime. He’s only 26, though, and his body’s still good at bouncing back, even from the amount of whiskey he drank the night before.

He rolls over to check his phone. It’s only two in the morning, which isn’t surprising. After drinking, Gladio always has trouble staying asleep. It’s like the alcohol is bubbling in his brain, popping against nerve endings and sending him ebbing in and out of consciousness all night. The fact that this isn’t his bed has something to do with it, too. Prompto’s bed is squishy and soft like a pillow, sending him rolling to the middle even though that’s the last place he wants to be, because when he rolls to the middle, he’s back to back with Prompto.

His sleeping partner’s soft snores are barely audible over the hum of the ceiling fan spinning in the center of the room. There’s a clock somewhere in here. It’s an analog clock- how the fuck did Prompto find one of those?- and its endless march into the future is so painfully loud in his ears. Each tick-tock-tick-tock reminds him of another second he’s lying here in his best friend’s bed.

Another second he’s making of this mistake.

There’s something keeping him here, though. The tiniest shred of doubt nibbles at the back of his brain like a rat. That tiny hole it’s nibbling is spilling logic and reason like water through a sieve. Why can’t he stay here? Why can’t he just… roll over, pull Prompto into his arms, and hold him? Press that warm body against his own and feel safe. Secure.

That’s what’s there in Prompto’s arms, right? It’s what he wants to be there. Gladio wants to do exactly that. Maybe find some reassurance and understanding there in those slender limbs. He can bury himself deep within that freckled haven and forget about all the troubles and traumas and losses.

Prompto sniffs and sobs quietly in his sleep. He’s dreaming, and whatever it is probably isn’t good. The whimpers that slip from his lips as he slumbers tell Gladio it’s not. Who knows, maybe Prompto always does this. The sad sounds just make him want to stay here even more and bring his friend some comfort, but he knows that’s not how it’s gonna work. No, touching Prompto is only going to thrust the blonde even deeper into his feelings; Gladio knows that better than anyone, probably even Prompto himself.

Rolling onto his back, Gladio stares at the shitty popcorn ceiling above their heads. It’s illuminated by the backlight of his phone and casts long, bumpy shadows across the ceiling.

Tick-tock-tick-tock.

Maybe they could talk this out. Gladio could explain that what happened last night was a moment of weakness on his part and should never happen again. He was serious when he said he wasn’t strong enough. Hell, he could have the biggest muscles in all of Lucis, but if Prompto wasn’t there by his side shining that bright, dizzying light that guided him through all this darkness, then Gladio’s body was useless. He didn’t even know how to start that conversation. A big part of him didn’t want to have it and wanted to ignore it and just let it go.

He just wanted to be like this with Prompto. It was stupid to think that would work, though. Prompto whimpers again, and Gladio knows he can’t stay here. He’s got to get up, get out of here, get some distance between them so he can work these feelings out and find reason amongst the shattered remains of their friendship he’s bound to find when he comes back.

The first step is finding that hiding place. With the world the way it is, there’s not many safe spaces left. Traveling far is not safe or sane, even for someone like Gladio, who can hold his own against the demons that lurk in the dark. Their mere numbers would overwhelm him and swallow him like a pill, absorbing him into their endless night. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

That leaves Lestallum and the haven nearby as the only two places of respite he can seek right now. For a moment, he ponders crashing on Ignis’s couch. That wouldn’t go well; Ignis couldn’t see, but he sure as hell wasn’t blind to Prompto’s feelings about Gladio or his own inability to handle his emotions. Ignis would take this splinter that Gladio’s going to embed in his friendship with Prompto and rip it wide open, peel it from the flesh, and let it bleed until it heals.

It may be the correct way to handle this situation, but it’s still Gladio’s choice.

The clock’s still ticking, still taunting him. Tick-tock-tick-tock-you’re-still-here-Gladio.

Slowly, Gladio peels the covers back from himself and rises. The mattress creaks in nearly a scream and he’s sure it’s going to give away his position. He wishes it would stop, he wishes it would just let him be, he can’t take any more  _ sounds _ in here. Gladio picks up his phone and its screen lights up in response to the movement, illuminating Prompto’s sleeping face gently in its glow. It’s twisted up, his mouth frowning and eyebrows furrowed in sleep. Gladio reaches out, daring to brush a long lock of blonde hair from Prompto’s face. Prompto’s growing it out- there’s no point to getting a haircut anyway, it’s not like he can afford what he wants anymore- but it suits him well.

Prompto’s face relaxes. Is that a smile? No one smiles when they’re sleeping, but then again, Prompto always seems to smile when Gladio least expects it. It’s one of the things about Prompto that Gladio treasures, his unyielding joy. Gladio can still remember the smile he gave them after they freed him from imprisonment deep within Zeganatus; it’s a smile that both clouds his memory and haunts his nightmares.

He couldn’t save him, none of them could, but that doesn’t stop Gladio from tormenting himself over it.

Gladio could save him from this pain, too, he realizes, but this pain is necessary. Gladio needs it in order to preserve himself. Prompto will understand. He hopes.

 

“Hey, Yuki,” Gladio calls into the empty apartment. He’s answered by a mew that calls from behind the red couch in the corner of the room. A tiny, grey kitten zooms out from underneath to wrap her body around Gladio’s ankles. Setting his various bags on the floor before scooping her up, Gladio lavishes the small kitten with touches and scratches under her chin.

“You lonely, Yuki? I’m sorry your mama’s gone,” he coos. The kitten purrs, rubbing her face against the zipper of his leather jacket. The vibrations of her purrs are soothing; happiness radiates from the warm little ball of fluff and Gladio’s realizing just how badly he needs it right now. It’s ironic how much he craves the touch of another living thing. He could’ve gotten this at home, if he just allowed himself. Yuki’s eating it up just as much as he is, thankfully.

Gladio’s not quite sure how Aranea ended up with a cat. She had never really struck Gladio as an animal lover- or a people lover for that matter- so when he’d sat down on that red couch a month ago and the cushion fought back, Gladio jumped. Despite their awkward meeting, Yuki is always happy to see Gladio.

That’s especially the case now since Aranea and her mercenaries were hired to patrol the southern border, so she’s been gone for a few days. That’s what the note on the counter says, anyway. Prompto was the one she originally asked to care for Yuki, but Gladio feared for the kitten’s life, remembering a poor goldfish years ago that Noctis had given Prompto as a joke and died only a week later.

Yuki presses a paw into Gladio’s cheek and mews again, looking at him with expectant, green eyes. A smile curls at his lip- sometimes he thinks he should just take Yuki home with him- and he sets her on the counter to fix her some food. One can of cat food later, they’re back on the couch and the cat’s curled up in his lap, fast asleep.

Aranea’s place is perfectly maintained, though her place doesn’t really look lived-in; not like his place, where Prompto’s scattered knick-knacks and books across every available surface. Every inch of every wall has photographs and movie posters. There’s a chaos, but it’s somewhat organized and everything has its place. Gladio never expected to live in such a well-decorated space.

When he imagines his own decorating, it looks a lot like Aranea’s. What little furniture there is matches perfectly. The kitchen has just enough to be of use and there’s nothing on the walls. If Gladio didn’t know better, he would have thought he was in a hotel- sterile and unassuming.

The anonymity of Aranea’s apartment makes him miss his place a little bit. Then he thinks about what he’s left behind there. Gladio knows all too well how poorly Prompto handles some things. The way he sulked around for weeks after Noctis went into the Crystal was painful for everyone. Those violet eyes, red-rimmed and sunken, slip to the forefront of Gladio’s mind.

What will happen when Prompto wakes up? Will he notice right away? Will he wait for him? Will he write him off?

It’s already too late, Gladio realizes, to save the pieces of their friendship. He’s already shattered it on the floor like the dinner plates he used to crack between his fingers. Even then, Prompto collected the pieces and picked the ceramic shards out of Gladio’s fingers.

Who would pick up the pieces for him? Who would care for him when Gladio was gone? Guilt drenches Gladio’s guts, and they soak it up like a sponge. It makes him feel sick. Waking Yuki, he sets her on the floor before tossing the blanket over himself and curling up on the couch. He doesn’t deserve her comfort right now. The glaring bright screen of his phone tell him his alarm is going to go off in three hours; if he can shut his brain up, then he could actually get some rest.

Yuki jumps back up on the couch and wanders for a moment before making herself comfortable in the slight curve of Gladio’s hip. He sets her on the floor again, but she’s persistent. It’s like she knows how much he’s missing the other warm body he’d chosen to cuddle up to just hours ago. Another wave of nausea hits him.

  
  


Gladio’s not sure when he fell asleep. A key turns in the lock, stirring him from his slumber, and a light from the hallway streams into the room like the sun. For a moment, Gladio’s stunned. The light overhead turns on next and Gladio groans.

“What the fuck? What are you doing on my couch, Amicitia?” Aranea snaps.

“Needed to crash here,” Gladio says, covering his face with his forearm. “Why are you home so soon?”

“See? This is why I told you that trying to keep things secret was stupid.”

“Aranea, my dear, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on,” Ignis’s voice chimes in.

Well, shit.

“Amicitia is sleeping my couch!” she exclaims. Gladio’s eyes have finally adjusted to the light. Aranea is towering over him, holding an overnight bag in her hands. She looks positively livid as she stares down at Gladio with heat behind her eyes and for once, Gladio’s afraid of her. Yuki stands proudly on Gladio’s hip, meowing at her human.

“Hi, baby,” Aranea says with a purr to her voice as she scoops up the kitten. Gladio watches Ignis’s smirk across the room.

“Wanna tell me why you two were coming in here at… seven in the morning? With overnight bags?” Gladio says, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Nu-uh, you don’t get to ask me questions right now,” Aranea hisses.

“Why is Gladio on your couch, Nea?” Ignis asks, walking across the room six steps before pausing right in front of the coffee table. He’s memorized the layout of her apartment. Usually, when Ignis is in an unfamiliar space, he uses his cane, which is hanging off the armoire that stands next to the door. “Something I should know?” His tone is polite, but curious.

The gears are turning in Gladio’s head when Aranea reaches for Ignis, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Before Gladio can speak, her head whips around and she glares at him. ‘Not a fucking word,’ she mouths. “Out with it, meathead. Why, why are you crashing in my apartment? Did blondie give you the key?”

“You honestly should be happy, Nea, Noctis once gave Prompto a goldfish and it didn’t even last a-”

“Okay!” Aranea, says, putting a hand up, until she realizes Ignis can’t see it. Glowering, she lowers it and hugs herself. “Fine. Thank you for taking care of Yuki, Gladio.”

Ignis walks to the kitchen and starts making coffee. His motions are so calculated and precise that Gladio begins to wonder just how long he and Aranea have been together. It took Ignis months to learn the layout of his own apartment. He found himself wishing he could keep a secret as well as Aranea and Ignis could.

Aranea plops down on the couch next to Gladio, scratching Yuki’s ears. “I guess you have Iggy to blame for the cat, huh?” Gladio asks, reaching over to stroke Yuki’s shiny coat. 

“I found her on the street outside and thought it kismet,” Ignis said. “She brushed right up against my legs.”

“He came in with this cat and I couldn’t say no,” Aranea said, pressing a kiss to Yuki’s forehead.

“You two are gross,” Gladio whines.

“I didn’t ask you to be here when I got home with my boyfriend. You can always leave,” Aranea says pointedly.

“Aranea, if you send Gladio away, then we we’ll never know why he’s hiding out in your apartment.”

“Who said I’m hiding out?” Gladio growled.

“I tripped over your tent bag upon entry,” Ignis said simply. “Did you intend to camp in Aranea’s kitchen? Or did you just want to make it harder for someone to find you?”

Aranea smirks as she leans back into the couch. “He’s calling you out.”

Gladio cradles his aching head in his hands as he thinks of how best to tell them that he slept with Prompto. It wasn’t like that, not like a one-night stand- it’ll never be like that with Prompto, gods be damned- and he certainly doesn’t want to make it seem that way. No, what it was was a lapse in judgement. He simply gave in to lingering feelings that had been brewing for weeks now, feelings he’d been trying so hard to banish. Instead of words, just a groan escapes his lips. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Ignis glides across the room effortlessly despite his blindness and perches on the coffee table across from Gladio and Aranea. Crossing his legs at the knee, he leans forward in interest. His eyebrows furrow in a tell-tale crease; Ignis’s brain is already tinkering with the possibilities and Gladio can see it in his face. “Gladio, what happened?”

“We slept together,” he mutters. Gladio drops his hands in his lap and looks up. Ignis is stunned, he’s never seen the guy stunned before. Aranea looks impishly delighted.

Ignis’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Gladio, you do know, right? How he feels?”

“Gods, Iggy, I’m not a moron.”

“Are you sure about that?” Aranea jeers. Ignis shakes his head.

“But you do know, right?”

“He told me the other night that… that he felt something, yeah.” Gladio’s wringing his hands together in his lap. The anxiety’s building in his brain and he can barely stand it. He’s not one for anxiety. He used to be such a confident person, but that confidence seems to have disappeared with the sun.

Ignis is painfully quiet. Gladio waits patiently for that calculating mind to come to its conclusion, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. Aranea looks at Ignis and that mischievous grin drops faster than anchor. “I better go.”

With that, they’re alone.

“Gladiolus Amicitia,” Ignis says. Gladio thinks he’s going to go on, but he’s stopped. Ignis drops his head and shakes it with a sigh. When he lifts his head again, there’s disappointment painted across his face. Gladio doesn’t want to see that, he’s already so disappointed in himself that seeing Iggy feel it too is like a knife to the heart.

“Iggy-”

“Coward.”

  
  
  
  


Prompto wakes to the sound of his alarm chirping eagerly in his ear. Its shrill call makes his head spin and ache. With a groan, he reaches over, slapping at the screen of his phone until he silences his alarm. At first, he wonders why the hell he even set his alarm, until he remembers that Gladio told him Holly had work for them today. If he’d remembered that last night, he probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to replace his blood with whiskey.

“Gladio,” Prompto whispers, reaching out in the dark to feel a cold, empty mattress. It wasn’t a surprise; Gladio never slept well after a night of heavy drinking. In contrast, the alcohol helped Prompto sleep; it seemed to dull every nerve and quiet his brain enough so that he could rest. That meant the older man was probably somewhere else in the apartment, tucked into the old, green couch they’d thrifted with a book and a cup of coffee. The thought of Gladio, curled up with that absentminded smile he got whenever he read, made Prompto’s heart flutter in his chest.

Then the thought of last night crosses his mind and…  _ well. _ That flutter turns into a hurricane raging in his chest cavity, making his heart beat a million miles an hour and his head spin even harder. He can’t help but wonder what this means for them; they’d crossed that boundary, essentially promising that their friendship would never be the same. Prompto is excited, actually  _ excited, _ to see what’s in store for them. He has a hopeful feeling when he thinks about it that lightens his mood. It’s sure to be good, especially after last night.

Prompto hops out of bed eagerly, ignoring the dull ache between his ears and walks to the bathroom. As the sound of water pummeling tile fills his ears, he looks in the mirror, prodding at the Moogle band-aid Gladio had stuck to his chin that kick-started their whole evening. Prompto can’t help but admire the bruises Gladio adorned his neck with the night before; as silly as a hickey is, there’s something about it, something more permanent. It’s real, physical evidence that there’s more, so much more. The idea sends Prompto’s heart racing once more and he laughs quietly at his own ridiculousness, but the smile that twists his lips in laughter stays there until the hot water of the shower stings his skin and he washes away the memories of last night from his body.

Clean, warm, and wet, Prompto steps out of the shower. There’s a part of him that wants to walk out into their apartment, dripping and naked, just to see the look on Gladio’s face, to see the Shield’s reaction to his naked form. The fresh newness of everything has Prompto’s head swimming if what if’s and maybes and it’s almost too much to bear until he reminds himself that they have plenty of time to test those hypotheses. He dries and dresses in a black, long-sleeve tee and his fading cargo pants before stepping out of his room.

Into an empty apartment.

“Gladio?” he calls out.

No answer.

Prompto frowns before walking into the kitchen, flipping the lights on as he walks the hall. He knows the place well enough to walk down the hall and into the kitchen without a single light on, but these days, the darkness makes him uncomfortable. When the sun first went, Prompto slept with the lights on for weeks until Gladio hit the breaker, telling him to overcome and adapt. He did, in more ways than one. He’s more confident now, braver, stronger; it wasn’t a choice, but a necessity for him to grow a little more into himself now that the sun’s gone and he has more to protect, to defend. 

There’s no one here. The coffeepot’s empty and dry, and there’s still leftovers in the fridge that Gladio claimed the other day. He could’ve sworn Gladio would eat that curry for breakfast today. Prompto shrugs, closes the fridge and grabs a protein bar off the counter to toss in his hunting bag. Pistols dangle from an old coat rack next to the door and an assortment of shields and swords sit in an old umbrella rack. The sight of it all makes Prompto miss the convenience of the Armiger, the joyful fist bump of the man who wielded it.

Opening his pack, Prompto grabs a few boxes of ammunition and tosses them inside. The two favorites go in the holsters he straps to his hips. Last is the knife that he tucks in his boot. He hates to use it, but it’s good for cutting lines for traps. It’s saved his life a few times from the occasional gremlin or imp, too, but he hates the way the daemon blood stains his socks when he forgets to wipe the blade before stuffing it back in his boot.

There’s an unsettling feeling growing in his belly as he pulls on a coat. Something weird. It’s especially strange that this morning, of all mornings, Gladio would leave for the hunt before him. As excited and happy he wants to be about last night, the lack of his lover being there that morning puts a damper on things. That nagging feeling in the back of his brain, that anxiety, starts blossoming and Prompto inhales sharply.

“Not today, just, not fucking today,” he mutters, before heading out the door.

  
  
  


He’s the only one there when he arrives at the power plant. Normally there’s a small group of hunters collected here to speak with Holly about the day’s bounties, about what needs to get done to ensure that life stays as normal as it can for people in a world where there’s no sun. However, it’s nearly a ghost town, and Gladio’s nowhere in sight. Luckily, Holly’s left them a note.

“Wainterre Haven… overrun. That’s not good,” Prompto mutters. “Prompto and Gladio clear the area, light a fire for the runes, got it.”

Maybe Gladio’s already headed that way. He seemed pretty excited about this job last night. The deep baritone of Gladio’s voice echoes in his ears with talks of Hobgoblins and starscourged couerls. Sounded like a tough fight at the time, but if Prompto knows anything, it that’s if they team up, they can handle it. Holly rounds the corner, holding a clipboard and looking sullen.

“Hey Holly! Y’know if Gladio’s already headed out for Wainterre?” Prompto asks.

“You know him. If he’s not here, he’s probably already making out that way,” she says, touching her pen to her lip.

Prompto smiles nervously. That feeling’s still there, that uneasy feeling that’s brewing. He wishes it would just go away. Prompto knows he can trust Gladio. There’s no way he would run out on him after what happened last night, right? Right, he tells himself, walking out of town and pulling his pistol from its holster as he clicks on the flashlight strapped to his jacket.

Taking a deep breath, Prompto marches out into the night, quieting the nerves that steel his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading<3
> 
> and thank you to best beta [jibberjabber13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibberjabber13) for all of your hard work <3
> 
> The song for this chapter is [Divine Intervention](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0pZ2fB8PgI) by Taking Back Sunday.


	3. Though I'm Weak and Beaten Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto goes hunting, while Ignis and Gladio have an enlightening conversation. Uncomfortable discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii why yes I do love updating in the middle of the night thanks for noticing
> 
> um
> 
> Okay! This chapter's song is [Goner by twentyonepilots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J5mE-J1WLk)
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> Gore/blood  
> Sassy Ignis

The first thing Gladio can think is that he’s beautiful. The creature lurking in the hall of his high school, just outside of homeroom, is beautiful. Long, brown hair is tamed by neat braids that curve over the helix of his ear. His green eyes flicker from plaque to plaque on the wall with nervousness; once they fall on Gladio’s, he can’t help but notice the flecks of brown that dot their irises. The smile on his face is warm and inviting.

Gladio’s speechless, but not for long.

Their first encounter lasts only a moment. 

“Help me find my homeroom?”

But it turns into so much more.

He realizes he’s in love when they’re hidden in one of the old shower stalls of the boy’s locker room. Their hands fumble awkwardly over their clothes, touching briefly and boldly as they share hungry, hormone-driven kisses. Gladio’s more than happy to touch that body like he’s never touched a body before, to kiss him like every kiss is new and shining like a diamond. There’s want for more and the act itself is too intimidating.

And the talks. Gods, the talks. They could talk for hours, until their voices grew hoarse and they couldn’t speak, but it still wouldn’t be enough for Gladio. He wants to know everything. He wants to hear about Galahd, about his brothers, about the bread his mom used to bake with breakfast. He wants to hear his hopes and dreams and fears, what makes his heart beat the hardest.

Then it’s all gone. He’s gone back to the country he came from as a foreign exchange student and taken Gladio’s heart with him. Gladio doesn’t cry. Not at first. Not until he’s sitting in the locker room after training when the Glaives are gone and he thinks no one can hear him weep for his broken heart.

“Gladiolus,” Cor’s voice carries with a boom through the large, tiled room. Gladio looks at him in horror, trying to wipe his tears from his face with his sleeve. He doesn’t want his teacher to see him like this, emotional and wounded. He’s supposed to be strong; he’s an Amicitia. Gladio expects those ice-blue eyes to narrow at the sight of his tears. He expects his mentor to come down on him with the stone-cold persona the Immortal attacks life with.

Instead, he sits quietly, patiently, until Gladio falls apart again. Cor’s quiet- he’s  _ always _ quiet- but after years of training together, Gladio can discern the silences from each other. This one is patient; it’s kind. Cor may be rough in the training room, but his heart isn’t unfamiliar to love lost and hopelessness.

There’s a hand on Gladio’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Cor sighs and Gladio can hear the weight of melancholy in his voice. “There will be times when the eye wanders, when you lose sight of what’s really important, Gladio. It may seem tempting to forget responsibility,  to open yourself up, but just remember: your duty to your king and your brothers comes first. Always. Love isn’t always forever and some things you can’t take back, but your duty will always be there.”

Cor’s gone as quickly as he appeared. It’s almost like he knew what had happened, that Gladio had fallen in love only to fall to pieces. He wishes it wasn’t this way, that those green eyes and the brilliant smile that accompanied them would be waiting for him by his locker like they always had been.

Cor’s words echo in his ears.

“Your duty to your king and your brothers comes first. Always.”

Gladio swears he’ll never forget them if it means that duty can help him heal his broken heart.

____________________________________

 

The forest surrounding Lestallum is full of tall trees. The old growth here stands as a testament to the notion that though humanity is strong, nature will always overcome. The forest at night is always menacing, and Prompto can remember the feeling of dread that used to creep into his bones on those moonless nights, where starlight was all they had. It filters in weakly through the trees, making Prompto grateful for his flashlight. The darkness those nights seemed to wait hungrily at the edges of the havens for them. Even now he was aware of the little light strapped to his vest- it was a security blanket that doubled as a homing beacon for the evils that lurk in the dark.

Now that darkness is there all the time. It’s menacing and the nervous energy radiates through it like waves. There are times where Prompto can almost feel comfortable, like he’s used to the blackness that’s swallowed up his world. Those are the times where he can feel his anxiety release its hold on him for just a moment. The thoughts, the worries, they slip away for a second and he can almost appreciate the silence of the night. It never lasts for long, though, for evil never rests and the scourge wants him for its own.

There’s always memories that bring him back into his own darkness. That nasty little voice in the back of his brain reminds him of sacrifices he would have never chosen to make, sacrifices he was thrust into. It’s those days he can’t stop worrying; worrying about Noctis, about the fate of the world he lives in, about if he’ll ever live to see the light of day again. It’s whispering in his ear again as he walks quietly through the forest, dimly lit by far-off stars.

Something’s up. Gladio should have been there. Gladio should be here right now.  _ Maybe he actually left, not just for a hunt, but for real, because you’re not good enough. Not good enough to be his friend, not good enough to be with him, not good enough for anything, and he knows it- that’s why he’s gone. You should’ve tried harder for him and Noct and Iggy- _

“Shut up,” he mutters to himself as he presses his palm into his temple. “Fucking shut up.”

It won’t, though, no matter how hard he tries, no matter how many songs he sings softly under his breath, no matter how many awful jokes he can come up with that would make Ignis sneer at him. There’s no soothing the nasty thoughts that are scratching at the inside of his skull. He can’t stop the idea that he might be right, that Gladio didn’t just leave early for the hunt this morning, that he actually, seriously left. Prompto doesn’t have a clue why he’d do it- it’s not like Gladio to run from something- but it won’t stop haunting him all the same.

The smell of blood brings him out of his brain and back into reality. Just from the aroma, he can tell it’s not daemon or animal blood. Daemon blood reeks of poison, of sludge, of decay; it’s a scent that makes Prompto nearly wretch every time he smells it. The disgusting smell always hangs heavy in the air for hours after the corpse fades to dust. Animal blood smells more gamey; it’s like the metals in animal blood are more aromatic or something. Those have corpses that linger, unlike daemons, and they don’t smell nearly as bad.

This smell is a mix. There’s the vague metallics in the air of human blood and not far off there’s that disgusting smell, too. Prompto’s heart drops in his chest at the scents. What if it’s Gladio? There could have been a bad fight with a daemon pack. Sure, Gladio’s big and strong, but he can’t take on six hobgoblins and the report did say hobgoblins and godsdamn it, why couldn’t he have just waited for Prompto to get there-

He’s not controlling his feet anymore, his heartbeat feels like it’s in time with his feet as he sprints through the forest-

Yelling is a bad idea but he can’t help calling Gladio’s name as he runs, even if he’s hurt he should still be able to call out and oh gods, what if he’s dead, Prompto can’t carry his corpse, it’s too big and Ignis can’t help because he’s fucking blind-

“G-gladio!” Prompto gasps as his flashlight swings wildly on his chest, illuminating a corpse dangling from the side of the dark haven. The runes are out, and so is the mystical fire in the middle. He stumbles over a fallen tree and the dead branches crunch under his boots before he scrambles up the side of the haven. There’s a few dark stains in the surface of the rock. Daemon blood always leaves a stain. Tossing his backpack to the side, he grabs the corpse by the ankles and pulls it up onto the stone.

“Oh g-gods,” he chokes, rolling over the corpse so he can see its face. Glassy green eyes stare back at him, framed by blonde, bloody bangs. It’s not Gladio- he’s very upset to find a corpse here- thank the Six. Resting the body at the edge of the Haven, he closes the man’s eyes gently before placing two gil from his pocket over his eyelids. He’s probably a hunter, Prompto realizes. Holly usually leaves the big jobs to people like Gladio and Prompto who are formally trained in combat and have seen more than their fair share of daemons. This guy probably thought he could handle the job on his own. Prompto sighs sadly as he turns his back to the corpse and pulls out his phone. He should probably text Holly and let her know so they can get some hunters down here to retrieve the body.

It dawns on him that Gladio’s not here; he would’ve definitely heard Prompto calling to him and come looking. Standing in the center of the haven, surrounded by darkness on all sides, he feels completely and utterly alone. There’s no one here. His backup’s nonexistent. The sense of urgency to get out of here, before more daemons shows up, makes the hair stand up on his arms.

Prompto reaches down to grab his backpack when something knocks him flat on his face against the cold, stony surface. His collision with the haven knocks the wind out of his lungs- he can’t get up, fuck, he needs to get up- and that’s when long, vicious claws sink their length into his shoulders. He screams in pain as the beast on his back starts shredding him to ribbons, pinning him with one claw while ripping through him with the other. Rather than panic, he takes a deep breath- if he panics now, he’s sure as dead- and rolls, kicking one leg out long and colliding with the side of what he realizes now is a Starscourged couerl.

There’s no stopping the raging beast. It lunges at him with golden, unblinking eyes and the teeth that are already dripping black, viscous blood sink into his leg. The couerl shakes its head, tossing Prompto effortlessly. There’s a pop and searing pain that makes him scream again. He’s begging, pleading with the insane animal to stop as the heel of his boot makes contact with the beast’s eye socket.

It howls in pain as Prompto drags himself away. His hip’s dislocated, making his leg essentially useless as it burns with pain, both from the dislocation and the bite. His own crimson blood is tinged with the miasma of the starscourge and Prompto bites his lip, holding back the bile as he realizes that disgusting smell is coming from him.

The beast is rushing him again, ready to tear him apart for good this time. In the corner of his eye, starlight barely catches the blade of his knife. It’s like a beacon, alerting him to his easiest weapon with which to fight in such close quarters. It’s now or nothing, he tells himself, as he holds the blade in his fist and the couerl’s on top of him again, teeth going straight for his neck.

This time he’s faster. The raging animal on top of him is predictable and leaves an opening for him to sink his blade deep in its neck and rip it out the side. A guttural scream nearly deafens him as the daemon slumps on top of him, spilling its blood all over him. Prompto coughs, trying his best to cover his mouth and nose while squirming out from under the corpse. His breath is unsteady and his heart’s nearly trying to beat out his chest as he sobs, eternally thankful for his life.

The couerl’s too heavy to crawl out from under, not while his leg’s so useless. He’s going to die here if he doesn’t act quickly and relight the runes, though. With a cry of pain, Prompto pushes the rapidly decaying body off of him, using his good leg and forearms to crawl to his pack. There’s a vial in his backpack with some of the magic from another haven. If he can just get it out and smash it on its surface, the runes will light. He’ll be safe. As he moves his backpack, he can hear the tinkle of glass inside.

“No, no,” he sobs, nearly breaking the zipper as he rips it open. Reaching inside, he cuts himself on a shard of glass. “Fuck.”

Prompto draws a deep, shaky breath, and tries to calm himself. There’s no way he’s going anywhere, not with a bum leg and the amount of blood he’s lost; the amount of blood he’s still losing, he reminds himself. As much as he doesn’t want to, he clicks off his flashlight and submerges himself in darkness. It’s better to hide in the dark than to leave the light on, drawing daemons and gods know what else.

His phone. He can use it to call for help, Gladio would-

Gladio.

He’s not here. Prompto had made assumptions and given the man the benefit of the doubt. He had counted on him being here so they could back each other up. Instead, Gladio had just… up and disappeared. Anger bubbled up in his belly, coiling it up tight, making him feel sick. How could he just walk out like that? After everything they’d said, after everything they’d shared together? Even if Gladio didn’t want Prompto like he wanted him, they were still friends, and Gladio still owed him some decency.

That awful feeling he’d tried to ignore all morning had been right. Gladio did walk out on him last night; if he hadn’t, he would’ve been right there with Prompto when he woke up. His heart sank in his chest like a led balloon.

Prompto’s forehead slumped against his good knee, pulling the skin of his neck and shredded back upward. He gasped in turn, the pain egging on the tears that had been hiding behind his eyes. He couldn’t cry now; not with what was listening and waiting in the dark. Whatever he was feeling had to wait until he was safe or until he was dead and it didn’t matter anymore.

His body began to shake from adrenaline and fear as he laid down on the haven’s icy, hard surface. His hand shook as he switched off his flashlight and closed his eyes. His heart was still pounding hard in his chest; placing a hand over his ribcage, he could feel it through his skin. It wouldn’t be long now. He never thought he’d go this way: cold, alone, betrayed.

Of course he would, though. It was him, after all.

 

_______________________________________

 

The look that Ignis gives Gladio is pained, disappointed, angry, even. Gladio tries to stare him down with equal force, but knowing he’s in the wrong here takes away from the desired effect. He looks away from Ignis first- that look is too much to bear- and cradles his head in his hands. He’s gone and seriously fucked up, all because he’s afraid. Him, afraid, of words. Afraid of words, feelings, futures; things that are intangible, things he can’t destroy with his might alone.

“Fuck. You’re right,” Gladio mutters under his breath.

“Gladio,” Ignis murmurs, drawing Gladio’s eyes back up to his scarred face. The smile there is bittersweet. He’s not looking at Gladio, but it’s still the same knowing smile his friend has always had when he knows he’s right about something he doesn’t want to be right about. “I know you can do the right thing.”

“I- I don’t wanna do right,” Gladio grumbles. “That’s the worst part.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Ignis says, crossing his legs and leaning back against the couch. Yuki curls up in his lap, and Ignis strokes her mottled gray fur with a gloved hand.

Gladio sucks air between his teeth sharply. He’s trying to find the right words to say without actually saying them. Avoiding these words is what’s gotten him into trouble in the first place, and if there’s anyone on Eos he can be honest with, anyone who can help him figure this shit out, it’s Ignis. It’s about time he was straightforward with someone about his feelings. Maybe then he can be honest with himself, too.

“The right thing to do would’ve been to not do what I did at all,” Gladio sighs. “Should’ve just kept us friends instead fucking around and… and… gods, Ignis.”

“You shouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t share the same feelings,” Ignis says, and Gladio can’t blame him for the patronizing tone. He’s deserving, of that he’s sure.

“I never said that!”

Ignis smirks. “So you do feel the same way, then.”

Gladio groans, rising to his feet so he can pace around the room. Does he feel the same way? How does Prompto even feel? He’s only ever said that he cared about him as more than his best friend, and Gladio doesn’t even know if they match up. Does it even matter? Gladio doesn’t know how Prompto really feels, he’s not a mind-reader. He can’t even figure himself out half the time. He does know one, thing, though.

“I love him,” Gladio whispers. Though he speaks softly, it’s deafening like an avalanche in the silence of the room. “He means more to me than anyone ever has.”

Ignis smiles. “Then it’s salvageable.”

“Does he feel the same? Has he told you?” Gladio asks, excitement and terror whisking together in an amalgamation that makes him a little sick to his stomach. He wants to know, more than ever now, instead of hiding. It feels so fucking good to say it out loud, that he loves Prompto- as scary as it is. He instantly wishes he’d had the guts to say it to Prompto last night between gasps of ecstasy as he held him in his arms instead of whispering it here to Ignis while his heart’s drenched in sorrow and shame. It would’ve felt even better then, he bets.

The smile that Ignis offers in lieu of a response is knowing and kind.

“He has,” Gladio says with a grin.

“It’s not my place to tell,” Ignis says. “Unless you’d rather hear it from me? Not nearly as romantic.”

“Shut up, Ignis,” Gladio says as he laces his boots. His words are harsh, but he’s grinning like a godsdamned fool. There’s a weight that was hooked to his heart, dragging it to the ground and holding it there like an anchor. It seems to have given him respite after his moment of clarity, and Gladio isn’t about to let this opportunity go. 

He needs to talk to Prompto. He needs to tell him everything he’s been holding back. He needs to get back to the apartment before all hope is lost and Prompto wakes up to an empty bed that speaks volumes for his hasty actions.

“Are you leaving?” Ignis asks. It’s almost as if his ears perk at the sound of those heavy, rubber soles striking the old wooden floor.

Gladio grunts in response. “Yep.”

“You’re going to go confess your feelings. Gladio, I never pegged you for a romantic type.” Ignis’s smirk is absolutely gleeful.

“Iggy,” Gladio says warningly, leaning over to pick up his tent bag.

“Alright, I won’t push it. But Gladio?” Ignis says, standing and expertly navigating around the coffee table. It’s still blowing Gladio’s mind that Ignis and Aranea have kept their relationship under wraps for so long. The evidence in his instinctual travel around her apartment is clear that it’s been months. 

Ignis stops near Gladio and extends a hand. The movement is subtle, but it’s one they’ve practiced for years now. Gladio touches Ignis’s wrist to let him know he’s there. With a smile, Ignis slides his hand up Gladio’s bicep and onto his shoulder so he can give it an affectionate squeeze. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Iggy.”

“Good luck.”

“Hope I don’t need it,” Gladio says with a grin. Ignis can hear the confidence in his voice and grins back.

Gladio leaves the apartment in a tizzy. His heart’s pounding again with nerves and anticipation. As he walks, the sound of his shoes striking the pavement matches the beat of his heart. Gladio’s never been one for confessions; though he loves the art of the written word, he never felt graced with wisdom for use of them. The idea of walking into his apartment, waking Prompto, and confessing his feelings to him… it’s daunting. There’s a big part of him that’s still scared, terrified of what’s to come of all of this.

What if’s and hypotheticals rush through his mind like a hurricane. There’s so much at stake with all of this, so much that he’s given already, so much that might already be lost. If Prompto’s awake, Gladio’s hesitation has already set him one foot in the grave. If so, he doesn’t know how he’ll find his way out of this one. Maybe Prompto will be forgiving. The gunner knows Gladio best, knows just how close he holds his cards to his chest. There’s comfort in that thought. They know each other better than they know anyone else, these two years of darkness assuring the intimacy of their relationship.

He hopes, with all his heart, that when he comes home, he’ll find a golden halo of tangled locks still buried beneath the sheets. It plays in his mind like a movie. Prompto’s still asleep when he comes home, and Gladio can slip between the sheets and wake him with the tender touches and kisses he’s fantasized for months now. Prompto will wake up and their bodies can speak of the love Gladio is so afraid to talk about aloud.

The key sounds so loud when Gladio puts it in the lock. Tumblers turn, slowly, clunking and grinding in the door. Gladio knows he’s putting it off, taking his sweet time coming inside, but he’s afraid. Terrified, really, of the consequences. Of the possibilities. Elation and turmoil coil together in his guts like a sickly knot. He’s so excited he wants to run straight inside and tear himself open to share every piece of himself he’s kept secret, but he’s so terrified he wants to run straight into the darkness, not stopping until he’s somewhere new where no one will know him and he can be completely new.

Elation wins as the door creaks open, revealing their apartment encased in darkness. Gladio turns on the light; he’ll need it to put his camping gear away. The closet door’s already swung wide open. Prompto is so bad about closing doors. It’s one of his bad habits that Gladio just chooses to deal with, along with finding his clothes scattered throughout the tiny space they share. Gladio rolls his eyes and smiles as he starts putting away his things, finding pride in the fact that he’s here right now, tackling something that’s been scaring him for longer than he wants to admit to himself.

There’s something off, though. Did someone break in the apartment? Prompto’s favorite pistols are missing from the makeshift gun rack Prompto installed next to the closet door. His coat’s missing from the closet, too. His insides start to twist and turn into an even bigger knot as the gears start turning in his head. Prompto doesn’t normally get up this early, unless they have a hunt-

Oh,  _ shit. _

Gladio starts pulling his equipment back out of the closet, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. His search is frantic, and he can feel his heart climbing up his throat as he hurls his tent bag out of the way, revealing the bare, scratched wooden floor of the closet. There’s nothing here but dust bunnies and dirt.

Prompto’s backpack is gone. He knows that means Prompto’s gone hunting, and Prompto never, ever goes hunting alone, not after the incident with the garchimacera last year. The gunner isn’t like Gladio either; if he had a bone to pick with him, he’d let him know, not run off into the night. That only leaves one conclusion. Gladio feels like he’s going to be sick as he takes his phone out of his pocket, and his hands are fumbling as he races to dial Holly’s number.

“Gladio, what d’you need?” Holly’s voice crackles through the line.

Gladio swallows down the bile that’s rising in his throat. “Holly, where’s Prompto?”

“Prompto? I sent him on that hunt. We both thought you’d already be out there,” Holly says. There’s a pause. “Tell me you’re out there.”

“Fuck, no, I’m still at the apartment!” Gladio growls into the phone.

Holly’s silence on the other end is telling. “That’s not good, Gladio, that hunt is too big for solo.”

“Shit,” Gladio curses. He grabs his sword and his pack before rushing out the door.


	4. Look at Us and Have No Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Prompto are reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry this took me forever. I am kind of struggle bussing right now between mental health and going back to school. Thanks for being patient with me <3
> 
> This chapter's song is [Darkness Rising](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEkf1qa5TGs) by my favorite band, the Matches. It's beautiful and suits the chapter so well; I just cannot get over the despondent, sad piano. I'm weak for it.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter :)

Prompto groans as he strains for his pack. It’s not far, resting against the rock beside him, but the effort it takes just to move his body enough to grab it seems to steal the air from his lungs greedily. Panting, his trembling fingers struggle with the button on the front- why the fuck did he buy a pack with a button, not a zipper?- and it takes a minute of rest and a hushed swear uttered under his breath before he gets it open.

There’s not much left in there. He’s been picking at the contents all day. There used to be an array of curatives, bandages, an extra jacket, and bullets- enough supplies to get himself through a minor emergency. Minor, right. Prompto chuckles darkly and coughs so hard he can’t stop. As he does, hot, viscous liquid dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

That’s not good. Then again, none of this is.

Prompto takes the last potion out of his bag and sighs. It’s too soon. According to the tiny screen of his watch, he’s still good for an hour on the potion he smashed in his fist awhile ago. It could mean life or death for him to take this one too soon. The shredded flesh of his back is still oozing blood, no matter the coagulative properties of the curative, and he desperately wants for it to stop aching for a moment. 

Of course, the hip’s a completely different story. His ankle’s rotated so far inward he could scratch the back of his other heel with his big toe if he really wanted to. It’s the reason why Prompto is laying flat on his back; if he even tries to hinge at the hip, there’s this terrible rubbing sensation accompanied by pain, and loads of it.

No potion, not just yet. He can handle it.

Prompto’s eyes adjusted to the dim light hours ago. Since then, he’s just laid there, waiting and scanning the darkness for moving shapes and forms. There’s been more than a few, but thankfully with his light off he’s camouflaged in the darkness of the night. The movement out there only makes him feel more alone, which is even more painful than the injured hip or the flesh of his back that’s been torn to ribbons.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He doesn’t want to die this way, not on a slab in the darkness while he bleeds out slowly. Prompto still needs to see the morning. He still needs to see Ignis’s face when the sun hits his lids- Prompto will have his camera ready to catch that moment of delight when Ignis can see the sunlight, when he can feel that warmth on his scarred face.

And Noct- gods, he can’t wait to see Noct. He doesn’t know what he’ll do or say, all he knows is that he’s going to hold him close until his best friend gets embarrassed like he always does and shoves him away. That’s when he’ll smile that smile that lights up a room and Prompto is grinning to himself just thinking about it.

Prompto has to live. For Ignis, for Noctis, for Gladio-

All that hope, all that optimism he’s tried to cultivate comes crumbling down within him like an avalanche at the thought of that amber gaze burning into his, those war-torn hands closing on the silky flesh of his back, his searing kiss. It was almost funny, in some fucked up way, how just a few hours ago, Gladio would’ve been the one he wanted to live for the most.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

There were a few things in which he was confident after several hours of painful contemplation. Gladio had skipped out on him last night. He’d left in the early hours of the morning to avoid what could’ve been a conversation and instead drove several, if not all, of the nails into the coffin of their friendship. Screw a relationship; Prompto wants to forget everything about the night before. He wants to forget the way his own name sounded, coated in ecstasy as it rolled off Gladio’s tongue, the way he’d been so desperately, wholly wanted by someone he loved.

A little part of him wants to survive in spite of Gladio. He wants to live a long and happy life, ever in his orbit, so the man would never be able to forget what he’d missed out on. However, the larger, kinder part of Prompto just wants to live so he can forget. When he gets out of here, he’ll probably just leave. Pack up his stuff, or at least what he could carry on chocobo-back or maybe Dave’s truck, and get out of Lestallum. Hammerhead sounds nice.

_ If _ he gets out of here. The words echo in his head, make it spin. There’s still a really good chance that he’ll die here on this sad slab of rock; he still has to at least try to prevent that, as defeated as he feels right now. Prompto rolls onto his stomach as he searches the surface of the haven for his phone. It had been knocked out of his hands, clear across the rocks. He could see the surface of it now, cracked to hell, as it caught the starlight.

Propping himself on his elbows, Prompto began to squirm across the surface of the haven towards it. He bites his lip, fighting back the tears that scorch his eyes, as he drags his broken body with his arms. His chest aches and the fresh scabs in his back break as the torn skin ripples over his flexing muscles. Just as he thought that maybe he’d get there- it’s such a short distance but it feels so endless- the toe of his bad leg catches on a crevice in the haven’s surface, tugging on it as he moves.

A choked sob escapes him, and he claps his hand over his mouth to muffle it. The tears that were burning his eyes are now streaking down his cheeks. He can taste the salt of them and the coppery flavor of the blood they’ve caught in their path down to his lips. The toe of his boot is firmly wedged in the rock now and every movement is searing hot pain through his entire body.

It’s then that Prompto lays his forehead down on his forearms and lets the tears flow, feeling utterly helpless and alone. There’s no hope now and there probably never will be any at this rate. He can hear Gladio’s voice in his ears, calling his name. Is his own brain taunting him now for his stupid mistakes? How fucked up is that?

“Prompto,” Gladio says, his hand falling on Prompto’s shoulder. The blond tenses up as the swift contact of Gladio’s hand reminds him of the coeurl’s claws striking his body. Before he knows it, he’s shaking with fear and pain and rage and a multitude of other things he can’t put a finger on.

“He’s delirious,” Ignis says as he listens to Prompto’s whimpers.

“No fucking shit, look at him. Shortcake’s a mess,” he can hear Aranea’s voice echo over the rocky surface of the haven.

The hand on his shoulder rolls him over, and he cries in pain as the weight of his body presses his dislocated hip into the cold, hard mass of the rocky surface below him. Slipping from his shoulder, the hand moves to support him across the top of his back and he’s pulled into someone’s lap. Opening his eyes, he’s both relieved and shattered.

It’s Gladio.

Prompto says nothing. He can’t say anything; he doesn’t even know what he would say to this man. He wants to kiss him forever in thanks for his rescue. He wants to tell him to fuck off for the terrible situations he’s put him in over the last twenty-four hours. Neither will come out right, he realizes, as he begins to shake uncontrollably.

Aranea towers over them in full battle armor, surveying their surroundings as she clutches a vial of something blue in her hand. It’s haven magic. Prompto releases a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of her. He can’t count how many times she’s saved his ass, but he’s eternally grateful that she’s never stopped doing it. Noticing his gaze, she crouches down next to Gladio, who can’t seem to say anything but Prompto’s name as he holds him gingerly in his arms.

“Hey, you. Pretty rude to start the party without us,” Aranea says, wiping his sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead.  He shivers at her touch.

“Sorry,” Prompto whispers hoarsely as he closes his eyes and breathes again, shallow and short. He’s so cold it’s like Shiva’s frozen kiss has encompassed him. He can feel laughter seizing in his abs, but it only makes him cough. Try as she might to quiet herself, he can hear the small gasp Aranea releases as she watches him cough. Prompto tries his hardest to keep his eyes on her as she reaches to wipe something from his lip, but his vision’s getting all hazy.

“How is he?” Ignis asks, drawing Prompto’s attention from Aranea, who’s wiping her hand on her hip. “That didn’t sound good.”

“Well, there’s a coeurl corpse here. Looks like… fuck, Blondie, did you gouge it’s throat out? Badass,” Aranea says, poking the rapidly-decomposing corpse with her toe. “It’s been here awhile. Hours, probably.”

Gladio groans. Prompto looks up at him; just locking eyes with him makes his guts turn and twist. Thick eyebrows drop into a concentrated frown as Gladio looks at him closely. Reaching for his face, Gladio wipes the warm, viscous fluid that’s trickling from the corner of his mouth. He can feel it now, and the hot, oozing liquid is like fire on the cold flesh of his face.

“Not good, Iggy. We need to get him out of here,” Gladio says.

“I’ll call Holly,” Prompto hears Ignis offer.

“Ignis, we don’t need Holly, we can get Blondie outta here ourselves.”

“Yes, but she should know…”

Prompto can’t focus on the conversation anymore. He can’t really focus on anything; his vision’s blurring at the edges as it starts to spin again. Closing his eyes, Prompto can feel himself shaking even harder as he relaxes into Gladio’s hold.

“Prom, keep it together,” Gladio whispers. Prompto can feel a rough, bearded chin brush against his cheekbone as lips touch his temple. “Keep those eyes open.”

“You’re here. Thought… thought you weren’t gonna show.” Prompto mutters, raising his wrist to wipe the blood that trickles down his chin as he speaks. Gladio’s grip only tightens around him as the older man draws him close to his chest and buries his nose in Prompto’s hair.

“I’m here now.” Raising his voice, Gladio speaks, but it’s shaky. “Let’s get him out of here. Prompto, can you walk?”

Prompto’s head flops from side to side as he shakes it. “No, I think… something happened to my leg when it got me.”

“No problem,” Gladio murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

He snakes an arm under Prompto’s knees, cradling his aching body to his chest before rising carefully to his feet. Aranea’s right there, hovering with her hands on Gladio’s elbows as he stands. Prompto cries out as agonizing pain shoots through his hip. Gladio’s shirt is wet and cold, and Prompto opens his eyes to find Aranea’s flashlight illuminating the white tanktop Gladio’s wearing. It’s stained crimson.

“F-fuck,” Prompto curses, dropping his head against Gladio’s bicep and passing out. The last thing he can remember is a shaky gasp and useless apologies.

  
  
  


The hospital in Lestallum is barely humming with life. Years ago, it was one of the best hospitals in Lucis with seven floors dedicated to saving life and limb. The halls were always brightly illuminated and bustling with the nonstop movement of doctors, nurses, patients,. There was hardly a moment where the heartbeat of the building itself couldn’t be heard in the hurried footfall or steady drip of an IV.

Now the hospital is merely an echo of its former glory. It’s still the biggest medical center in Lucis… and the only one. There isn’t enough power with the limits put on the station, meaning only half the hospital is operational. However, life goes on as usual despite the severe lack of available space, meaning that there are still people that are hurt, sick, or worse, and needing attention.

Gladio stands with his back against the wall across from Prompto’s room. His heels press into the baseboards as gurneys and doctors whiz by at lightning speed through the ICU. The waiting room downstairs is crammed full of anxious people waiting for news, be it bad or good, and Gladio had found himself unable to stomach the nervous energy of the room.

He’d rather get his toes run over by a hundred gurneys than be there. He’s spent too much time in waiting rooms as it is. Countless numbers of hours have been wasted in halls just like these. He needs more hands and feet than he has available to count the number of stitches he’s received in hospitals (107, so far). The sound of the  stapler they keep in a drawer at the apartment still makes him queasy and reminds him of places like this. When magic fails, hands heal and so do stitches and staples.

Gladio squeezes his eyes shut. It’s not the scars or the memories of what’s happened to him in the past that make him so uncomfortable here now. Maybe it’s the smell? The hospital’s crammed full to its gills with people, and it isn’t as clean as it should be. He can’t blame the staff; he tried to count the people rushing by, thinking maybe an activity so mindless would ease his nerves but found it nearly impossible when people flowed through the hallway like salmon swimming upstream.

The smell of formaldehyde burns his nostrils, and he tries not to wonder why they’d need it in the ICU. Concentrating further, there’s the stench of remedy, the acidic aroma of elixirs, and maybe an ether’s spicy scent. The smell of blood hangs in the air, faint and sinister, like a reminder of what’s happened and what’s to come.

That’s when Gladio realizes it’s not the crowds or the smells that make him hate hospitals. It’s the helplessness of this place. He can’t control anything that happens here. Gladio can’t make that doctor come out of that room and give him the news he wants so badly the hope for it burns a hole in his heart like an ember on paper. 

It’s here that he has to put fate into the hands of others and merely hope that they can and will do their best. There’s many times he believes they haven’t. His mother, Ignis, Noct-, they all come rushing to mind. There were many times when he was waiting hopefully, only to be heartbroken. Gladio desperately wants this time to be different. Maybe if he wants hard enough, the gods will find mercy and let him will it so.

Amber eyes watch through the glass window of Prompto’s room with scrutiny. Ignis is in there talking with the doctor. Gladio’s hopeless at reading lips and doesn’t bother trying that tactic. Instead, he watches the way Ignis moves. He can read the man like a book after nearly twenty years of camaraderie. There’s the telltale signs of distress he’s looking out for: crossed arms, distanced posture, that little wrinkle between Ignis’s eyebrows that only appears when he’s upset.

Two out of three’s not good.

He can remember when he and Prompto made the deal. They’d never be each other’s emergency contact, not while they were hunting partners. Prompto’s logic was sound: if one of them got hurt, most likely the other was, too. It fell upon Ignis to be both of their contacts, which he was fine with. It was something he could contribute to the group.

Still, though, there’s nothing more that Gladio wants right now than to be in there and in charge. Nevertheless, he bites his lip and bides his time. That’s his duty right now.

“Gladio,” Aranea calls from down the hall, holding two styrofoam cups in her hands. As she nears, she hands one to Gladio. It smells like coffee, it looks like coffee, but Gladio knows it’s nothing like the beverage he used to enjoy. It’s an imitation, and all they can get right now. Real coffee went with the sun. The fake stuff is fine, for now. It gives him something to do with his hands.

He takes a slurp, grimaces as the scalding-hot liquid burns his tongue, and sighs.

“Any news?” she asks, leaning casually against the wall before pressing herself against it to allow a gurney to whisk by. “Gods, it’s insane here.”

“Tell me about it.” Gladio murmurs. “No. Nothing yet.”

Prompto has hardly stirred since they left the haven, but Gladio can see the blonde’s head bobbing against the pillow through the window. Gladio’s surprised that Prompto’s conscious, especially after he lifted the blonde from the rock, felt his freezing-cold body, and nearly slipped in a puddle of his blood. Gladio can still remember the way it smelled, until he remembers that he’s covered in it. Covered in Prompto. Gods, it almost makes him sick to think that there’s so much fucking blood. He doesn’t dare look down; the looks he’s been getting from people as he stands here in the hallway tell him he’s like someone straight out of a horror film.

It’s amazing that Prompto’s even alive, but as Aranea had pointed out every so often on their way here, “Shortcake’s got a will to live. He’ll make it.”

She’s almost certainly positive, especially after admiring his handiwork with the couerl.

The doctor waves to them through the glass, beckoning them in. It feels like Gladio’s boots are glued to the floor. The helplessness seizes him like some kind of straightjacket and he hates it, but at the same time, he finds himself succumbing to its grasp like a bird to a boa constrictor. Aranea has to take him by the arm and guide him into the room.

Ignis is busy making polite conversation with the doctor. He’s the only person Gladio knows who can maintain such a facade under such stressful circumstances. The two of them quiet as Aranea and Gladio enter the room. The doctor smiles, nods curtly, and leaves.

It seems like gravity is pulling Gladio to Prompto’s bedside now. He wants nothing more than to hear the simple sound of the blonde’s breathing, to see his chest rise and fall with the tide of life. He doesn’t want to ask about prognoses or treatments. Just the promise of life continuing to be lived is enough.

“His hip was dislocated. The doctor says it’ll take time to heal, what with how long it remained dislocated for,” Ignis starts. Gladio feels a gloved hand land on his back as the tactician moves to stand beside him and it lingers there in a gesture of comfort. “Not to mention the several fractured ribs. They haven’t started on the wounds on his back yet. If I remember correctly, they’re waiting to see if the infection leaves his blood before going further.”

“Do they think it’s Scourge?” Gladio chokes as his heart drops into his stomach. It’s the only reason why they would wait. Starscourge almost always starts as a simple infection and blooms into something much more deadly with time.

“It’s not enough to be very concerned, but they don’t want to weaken him further and risk greater infection.”

Wracking his brain, there’s nothing there that can express gratitude, fear, and regret at once. Gladio covers his face with his hands and rubs it with a sigh.

Aranea stands close to Ignis as she grips his arm just below the elbow. “C’mon, Ig. The coffee here’s not bad.”

“Coffee. You call it coffee, but it’s merely brown, hot water,” Ignis grumbles. “What I would do for an Ebony…”

“You can tell me about it while we walk,” Aranea says, shooting Gladio a sympathetic look as they leave the room.

The door closes behind them, sealing Gladio off from the hive-like hallway. He almost misses the chaos of the hospital hallway now that he’s closed off in this room. The sterile smell he was missing out there is almost suffocating in here, but if he tries to sort out any other smells all he smells is blood and that’s the last thing he wants to think about right now.

This is all his fault, anyway, and the bloodstains on his clothes are nothing like the stains left on his psyche.

There’s a chair on the other end of the room, but Gladio can’t bring himself to leave Prompto’s side. It’s so odd, seeing him like this. He’s never seen so many tubes connected to a person before. He’s vaguely reminded of the way Prompto was strapped up like a man to a cross in Zeganatus by the way he lies there, arms slightly outstretched as the marvel of modern medicine pumps the life back into him. The essence of sunshine that seems to permeate his very being had been dimmed a lot that day, and for a long time after.

Gladio wonders how dimly that sun will shine when Prompto comes to this time.

Prompto draws a sharp breath in and Gladio’s eyes dart to the monitor. He watches the line rise and drop as Prompto’s heart beats in his chest. It’s strong and sure, by some wonder. Gladio steps to the bedside and draws the curtains before perching on the edge of the bed. The hospital gown Prompto’s wearing is merely draped over his front- the back is left open, as they’ve packed his wounds while waiting for the Scourge to leave his system- and Gladio pushes it aside easily as he slips his hand below it.

There it is. Something about Prompto’s heartbeat feels so much more real under the palm of his hand than when Gladio’s reading numbers and watching lines spike on a monitor. There’s skin on skin, the comfort of his presence, the silent promises each thud makes to Gladio in an effort to persist. The quiet that Ignis’s words brought to his heart is banished by those endless promises.

“You can sit with him, if you like.”

Gladio’s heart nearly stops in his chest as his head whips around. The nurse had come in the room at some point; she has a cart with her filled with various medical equipment and she’s snapping some gloves onto her hands. Though her face is tired, her eyes are kind and warm, and there’s a smile on her face that brings Gladio some comfort.

“I, uh. Is that okay?”

She smiles as she nears Prompto and begins unhooking him from various bags and machines. “If you want to. Now’s the time to get in there and get cozy before I have to hook him up again. The touch will be good for him, it’ll ease him.”

Gladio gives her a skeptical look and she laughs as she hangs a new bag of fluids on the rack. Before he can contest, she reaches below the cart and grabs a pair of scrubs. “I will ask you to change first. Need to keep him away from contagions.”

“Got it,” Gladio says as he accepts the scrubs thrust into his arms and walks into the bathroom. He sheds his blood stained clothes and throws them in the trash. There’s nothing he wants to remember about this day. He doesn’t want to remember the blood, the tears, the anguish, the helplessness, the voice in his head that just won’t stop with its incessant stream of consciousness.

This is your fault, it seems to say over and over. Gladio wants to scream at it until it falls silent.

When he returns, the nurse has freed Prompto from most of his tubing and  moved him to one side of the bed. Gladio sits beside him, but he’s not sure what to do. Prompto looks so fragile, like that porcelain skin really is made out of porcelain and Gladio remembers the numerous times Iris has called him a bull in a china shop.

“There you go. He won’t break. Patients always do better with a good cuddle,” she says soothingly, coaxing Gladio closer to Prompto until the blonde is tucked up against his chest. “He needs you right now.”

Gladio can only snort at the response. If she knew he was the reason Prompto was here right now, she might not be as kind. He stays quiet as she takes a few minutes to set Prompto up with fresh bags and leads before stepping back.

“You sure you’re good? I’m not gonna be back for a couple hours and you’re not going anywhere with him hooked up like that.”

With a nod and a half-hearted smile in return, she’s gone, leaving Gladio alone. Well, not really alone. He does have Prompto by his side, which in the end is all he really wants. A heavy sigh echoes through his chest as he rests his cheek against the top of Prompto’s head. He doesn’t dare look down at him. He doesn’t dare look for fear of seeing all the reminders of his grave error that’s  torn apart the man he so dearly loves.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you.”

There’s no answer and he’s sure that even if Prompto were to answer him then, he would continue apologizing for the rest of their lives. Some sickly amalgamation of relief and guilt is  twisting through his gut like a drill. While he wants it to quiet, there’s a part of him firmly rooted in the belief that he deserves all of it. It’s the price he’s paid for his indiscretions.

Gladio will pay in full. He’s got the cash lined up. He’ll stay by Prompto’s side for as long as it takes for him to heal. He’ll stay by Prompto’s side for as long as it take for him to forgive him.

Or not.

The shield winces at the very thought, and he finds his way to the pale skin shrouded by the soft cotton of the hospital gown. A palm, pressed flat to Prompto’s chest, reveals once again the steady beat of his heart and seizes Gladio’s. Now that they’re alone, he lets the tears flow freely. The regret’s a burning blaze, one’s that all-consuming.

There’s the crinkle of plastic as Prompto sets his hand on top of Gladio’s. The blonde draws a shaky breath as he drops his head against the larger man’s chest. Prompto’s looking up at him now and Gladio doesn’t bother to hide the salty tears that sting his face.

“I’m sorry, Prom,” he mutters.

“Not now,” Prompto says weakly. “Later.”

Gladio shivers as he speaks; the tone of his voice isn’t kind or forgiving, not like he expects that. His touch is soft, though, and inviting. Gladio takes it as a subtle hint at forgiveness as he turns his palm up to take Prompto’s hand in his and kisses the crown of his head. Before he knows it, Prompto’s asleep again, his heart fluttering against the back of Gladio’s hand like a bird.

That helpless feeling, unsettling and unknowing, feels like the ocean’s tide as it sweeps in and out of his core with every breath.  _ Not now _ . It’s ominous, almost. Not that he doesn’t deserve to be left waiting- he almost certainly does- but it’s so unpleasant.

It could be much worse, he reminds himself, as his eyes finally drop to take in all of Prompto and the weight of his mistake falls squarely on his shoulders. Every bruise on fair, pale skin is a mark on his mind. The blood that’s still cakes in the creases of the gunner’s knuckles takes Gladio’s breath away.

It’s too much. The pressure’s building in his eyes, fast and hot, as he blinks away the tears. He told himself and he told Prompto that he couldn’t lose him. The very same night he had thrown him to the daemons. So much for honor and duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and sacrifices to your favorite ancient deity are always appreciated.
> 
> Come freak out with me on tumblr @ tinyconfectionary.tumblr.com
> 
> or on discord @littlecakes#0597

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic is from a song from Death Cab for Cutie called "Black Sun". Every chapter has a song that's inspired it and it reflects in the title. This chapter's song is called "Night Drive" by Jimmy Eat World.  
> Thanks for reading! I have absolutely no idea where this shit's going but I'm enjoying it. This is real near-and-dear to my heart, so if you enjoyed it, let me know! Have a great day :)


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